Hitchhiking on Airplanes in Somalia (Part 2)

In Part 1, I introduced the rather unique experience of hitchhiking on airplanes in Somalia.

Part 2, however, is my very best (and true) experience of such hitchhiking. As in Part 1, this episode too was with our English client. He had come down to Nairobi and absolutely had to get up to Hargeisa, the capital city of the self-declared, independent, nation-state of Somaliland. This was on a Monday. I managed to get us on the UN flight to Mogadishu, and that is where the problems began. There were no scheduled UN flights to Hargeisa until Thursday and I had to be back in Nairobi by Thursday evening for two reasons. First, our dear English client was scheduled to return to London on that Thursday evening flight, but much more importantly, Diane (my future wife) was flying in that evening from the US, so I had a very real incentive to get back to Nairobi in time for the arrival of her flight.

We were a bit stranded. We had two choices; forget Hargeisa and return to Nairobi, or see if there wasn’t a way to get up there in advance of the Thursday flight to Hargeisa and take our chances on somehow getting back down to Nairobi. The Englishman was insistent, so I contacted the Administrative Officer; our first bit of luck. “His” UN-provided Learjet was flying up to Djibouti on Tuesday, the following day, and he would be happy to have the pilot land in Hargeisa en-route so we could get there. For once (and probably the only time) I was glad that part of my tax dollars were going to support the UN! I couldn’t believe it—a Learjet no less! Can you imagine! My confidence restored, the following day we went to the Mogadishu airport at the proscribed time and were escorted in grand style aboard the jet. It was a very pleasant, if short, flight up to Hargeisa. We landed, thanked the pilot, disembarked and watched him turn the jet around, taxi down the runway and take off. As he departed, I remember thinking, “I do hope there will be another flight out of Hargeisa in the next couple of days”.

Now, the first thing you did when arriving in Hargeisa was to check in at the UN office—for three reasons. First, a usually reliable third party would know you were in the “country” and what your plans were in the event of an emergency of any sort. Second, they would frequently permit you to stay at one of their “guest” houses and feed you (nominal charge, thank you very much). Finally, you could inform them of your desired departure and they would be able to let you know when flights would be coming in and leaving. As we already knew, there were no scheduled UN flights until Thursday. I wasn’t too worried because I knew there were frequently flights bringing in AID workers, consumer items, medical supplies, etc. These were not on the UN schedule, but the pilots would always check in with the radio controller in the UN office just to inform them. I told the office we were looking to leave later that day or the following one, Wednesday, which would get us back to Mogadishu in good time to make our return to Nairobi by the Thursday evening deadline. We went about our business, finishing late that afternoon and then checked by the UN office; no flights.

The following day (Tuesday), we returned to the UN office with our bags packed and ready to depart on a moment’s notice. The day passed and the moment never came. Now, I was beginning to worry a bit. Even if we did manage to get on the flight to Mogadishu on Thursday, we would be too late to catch the UN scheduled daily flight to Nairobi. Our options were to wait; or, to wait. Tuesday and Wednesday came and went; finally, mid-morning on Thursday, the radio controller told us that a CARE flight was just arriving and would then be flying on to Mogadishu—plenty of time for us to get back to Nairobi on the UN flight that day. We asked him to tell the pilot to please wait as we were on our way. Our spirits soared as we jumped into the back of a pick-up truck and started off to the airport which was about a 20 minute ride. Located on a plateau above the city, we climbed up the steep grade and made it to the airport just in time to see the plane taking off! We never found out what happened, but our spirits really sank and I began to get a very empty feeling in my stomach.

As I looked around, I spotted an old Russian Anatov aircraft that had just been unloaded with all sorts of consumer items. I turned to my poor English colleague who was looking extremely dejected and decided, well, why not, what have we got to lose. I approached the three rather burly and, as it turned out, Russian crew members and asked if any of them spoke English; one did and I asked where they were going—back to Djibouti was the response. My mind began to race ahead. While Djibouti was north and in the wrong direction, there were certainly many more flights out of Djibouti than Hargeisa. The afternoon Thursday UN flight out of Hargeisa would get us to Mogadishu too late to get to Nairobi, but there was a chance, albeit a slim one, that we would manage somehow to find our way to Nairobi from Djibouti in time to meet our deadline for that evening’s flights. I asked the English speaker if we could catch a ride. Wiping the grease from his hands and flinging the small dirty towel over the shoulder of his yellowing, sweat-stained T-shirt, he broke into a broad, toothless grin and said in his halting English, “of course,” and waved us aboard. But, first, the crew had to strap a couple of seats onto the floor of the plane as it had been loaded with cargo. This completed, we were invited to sit, offered coffee and began to relax again. I turned to my English colleague, toasted with the coffee, and commented, “just as good as British Airways.” He managed a weak smile, but was apoplectic and, I am sure, beginning to think we would never make it back and why had he listened to this crazy American in the first place. I’m sure that feeling was further supported a few minutes later when the pilot came back and said he couldn’t get the plane started; but, not to worry, it happened all the time and he knew exactly what to do; what a confidence builder! My English colleague got a panicked look on his face; clearly, he was beginning to have second thoughts. I managed to calm him. The pilot disappeared from the aircraft and returned about 15 minutes later, again wiping the grease from his hands proclaiming rather proudly that the problem was fixed and we would be off in no time. Apparently there is a starter engine in the tail of the plane accessible from the outside and he had gone back to attend to it. After a couple of sputters and coughs, the propellers began to whirl and soon we were taxiing down the runway. As we lifted off and Hargeisa disappeared behind us, I began to think ahead. I had absolutely no clue what we would do when arriving—Visa-less—in Djibouti. I quickly raced through the options in my head. We would somehow have to get through customs and immigration, but I pushed that aside to deal with the more difficult problem—getting to Nairobi by that evening. It was now early afternoon and we were fast running out of time.

I came up with three options. The first was that there just might be a scheduled flight to Nairobi; not likely, I surmised. Djibouti is a small city/state and while it does have a rather busy airport, I thought that any flights to Nairobi would most likely be only weekly or twice a week at best and what were the chances that Thursday late afternoon would be one of them. I moved on to option two. We could try to charter a plane to take us to Nairobi. Again, I had no idea what we would have to do, or the likely costs, but I had remembered from previous visits that there were always a number of smaller, presumably private, planes parked around the tarmac. Finally, we could try to get to Addis Ababa in Ethiopia. I knew there were more frequent flights from Addis to Nairobi and, who knows, we could get lucky. As we began the descent into Djibouti, I decided that we would have to go for option two initially; failing that, see about getting to Addis.

As we touched down, I began to ponder how to deal with the ever difficult customs and immigration officials in my very, very halting, in fact, virtually non-existent, French. As we taxied to the end of the runway and off into the parking area of the tarmac, I peered out the window to see another plane landing. As that plane came to a stop about 50 meters from us I noticed that it was a turbo-prop, with the International Red Cross symbol in bold red emblazoned on the fuselage. There was a fourth option I had not considered. Again, my mind began to race ahead; maybe, just maybe. I practically leaped off the plane and, much to the surprise and mirth of our Russian friends and to the astonishment of my English colleague, I sprinted over to the Red Cross plane in time to meet the pilot and co-pilot as they disembarked. I casually asked where they had come from and whether they were staying or going on. They had come in from Addis as I recall and were leaving in just a few minutes; came in to pick up some passengers. My hopes began to rise. Now the second question; where are you going, I asked somewhat more urgently; while it was only seconds, it seemed like an eternity before the pilot answered, “Nairobi”; I wanted to hug him! Then, the final and most important question; could we catch a lift I blurted out. The two of them looked at each other, smiled and the pilot simply said, “kind of desperate, huh?” All I said was, “Yeah, sort of.” The plane was a 12-seater. They had nine passengers, three of whom were getting off; if no more than four passengers got on, we would be more than welcome to fly down with them. It seemed like hours for the next 15 minutes to pass while we waited in the oppressive heat, standing in the little shade offered by the plane’s wing. Finally, we began to see people emerge from the terminal and walk toward the plane. One, two, three—that was it. There would be three empty seats; I was elated and clenched my fists, pumping them up and down while silently repeating over and over to myself, YES, YES, YES!!! The pilot turned to me, smiled and said, “Guess this is your lucky day, come aboard”. He had absolutely no idea.

My poor bedraggled English colleague who had shuffled across the tarmac to join me in a near catatonic state, sweat dripping from every pore in his body, brightened immeasurably and, for a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me, or the pilot! As we settled into our seats, I reflected back on the day and could only smile to myself and shake my head. So many things could have gone wrong (and, by and large, did); but so many things had to go right (and, most definitely, did). I knew it was a day I would never, ever forget; and not one I would likely ever be able to match.

Needless to say, we made it to Nairobi in time. It was only much later that I came to learn that our poor Russian friends had been the ones to suffer. Just before we had landed in Djibouti, the pilot had radioed ahead and informed customs and immigration that there were five on board; the three of them and the two of us. We bolted, of course, without saying a word to anyone and the guys to whom we owed a great debt for making it possible for us to get to Nairobi had some tall explanations to make as to the whereabouts of the other two passengers!